The Hidden Horcrux
by Sapphiria
Summary: Voldemort knew what Harry, Ron and Hermione were up to during their seventh year and created a living Horcrux in the Regions in the future. Twenty years after his death, Harry's scar begins to flare up and Voldemort returns, bringing the sides of light and dark in a race to find the Horcrux. Only problem? The Horcrux is a ten year old child and no one wants to kill a child.


**This AU doesn't include the events of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child for two reasons.**

 **1\. I haven't read it yet even though I've read the main series books at least ten times each and seen all the movies.**

 **2\. I doesn't match with what I'm planning and, from what I've been told, it's like terrible fanfiction. So, no, it doesn't fit. Also, some character's jobs have been guessed and, as such, may be wrong so don't kill me over it, this is an AU afterall.**

 **So this is an attempt to merge the Pokemon and Wizarding worlds together (As many have tried before me) but at the same time explain why they don't acknowledge each other's existance. Oh, and Voldemort is smarter as he actually realises what Harry, Ron and Hermione are doing in the seventh book! So yeah, some time travel mentioned but only to the future and all will be explained.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

There was a reason why Voldemort was known as the Dark Lord, and it wasn't just because of the fact that he was highly trained in the dark arts. He was a lord because he was skilful with his magic and he wasn't an idiotic moron who waited around for his impending doom. He knew what Harry Potter was up to, he knew that his Horcrux's were being threatened and destroyed one by one as the forces of good worked to overthrow the dark army. If he didn't act soon enough, his life would be opened to the horror that was mortality and Potter would have the chance to kill him, ending the dark age of the wizarding world. Now, because he was the Dark Lord and the Minister of Magic was under his control, he could easily enough plan a way to go against this threat to his soul pieces. Why, may one ask?

By creating another Horcrux, of course!

Now Lord Voldemort wasn't stupid, as I have said before, he knew that his soul was fractured beyond repair to make one in this timeframe. However, with the help of a Time Turner, he could go forwards or backwards in time to make a stronger Horcrux, one that would be hidden away from Potter and, if he was to fall to the Boy-Who-Lived, then a loyal servant in hiding could bring him back one day, just like Pettigrew had done during Potter's forth year at Hogwarts. It was decided that the Horcrux would be safer made if done so in the future, during a time where the Dark Lord would be dead. Time Travel was an extremely complicated topic, especially when it came to souls and the restoration or deterioration of said souls. For someone who died in the past, the future would see them as a new soul and, as such, this Horcrux would contain 50% of his soul if he split it.

There he was, Potter having escaped the grasp of his hunters with many Horcruxes slain at the hands of the boy wizard and the Light Lord, Albus Dumbledore himself - but Dumbledore was dead by the hand of one of his own and Potter wasn't going anywhere soon. Voldemort knew he was running out of time and had to select an area that the wizarding world would never search if word spread of Voldemort's secret Horcrux. There was, however, another side of the world which contained magic but was overruled by a muggle society who had named those with magic abilities under sub-par categories that had no want with the overall wizarding world.

The Regions.

The Regions were a set of continent sized landmasses filled with creatures that had accepted magic and had turned it into a power for themselves. As the creatures had most of the magical power, magic born humans were few and far between, but that made them rare and special in their own way, even though they were muggleborn, half-bloods at best, pure if both parents had the abilities those muggle rulers had pretensed them under. Lord Voldemort hated muggles with a passion and those wandless witches and wizards had his slight sympathies, if one could even call it that. The Dark Lord sympathised to nobody at all, he didn't have any empathy to feel for them. He also believed this Horcrux of his should be living, like Nagini was.

Nobody would ever think of a living, possibly human, Horcrux in a muggle dominant area years ahead in the future after his 'death' at the hands of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

Lucius Malfoy had used his Ministry power to acquire a Time Turner for his lord, a new one which wouldn't glitch on the master of the dark arts, leaving pieces of his body all over the place. Not the best way to start his plans of a secret Horcrux. In total, he would have eight – counting Potter even though he did not know of the boy's existence as a Horcrux – which was said to be dangerous. Time Travel was dangerous but having the laws of physics be dammed by Voldemort regaining his soul via heading to another time in which to create a separate, saving Horcrux that should he fail, would keep him alive for long enough for someone to resurrect his body. Of course, only a wizard, or magic born, could bear the privilege that was becoming the Dark Lord's Horcrux.

In all honesty, the plan sounded idiotic but then again, Lord Voldemort had lost all mental stability overtime and he was just trying to remain immortal for as long as he could so his wishes for the wizarding world as a whole could come to full completion. Many of his loyal Death Eaters' would die as a result of the 'Battle of Hogwarts' but there would still be some who lived, some who fled to lie in wait for their lord's return. Only those within Voldemort's inner circle would ever know of his plans. He instructed them to make Horcruxes as well, with wishes that once he was restored, the Dark Lord could recreate his faithful followers when the time was right.

Many of them had instantly agreed, others had been hesitant from the start. Those others were tortured into agreeing to their master. If their bodies were destroyed, they could latch onto the items they had used in the ritual until the Dark Lord reformed them himself. Only Voldemort was to have a living Horcrux, he was the master of the dark arts, after all. Nobody else could uphold that title from him, not after everything that he had done to the wizarding world.

All that was left to do was to pick a time of which to make the Horcrux. It had to be a few years after the dust had settled from the war between light and dark, but close enough that the Horcrux would still be young enough to change and develop into a being of the lord's desire. Voldemort decided to space nearly a decade from the time of war till the creation of his final Horcrux, that way no one would realise what was going on until it was too late. Now, with Time Turner in hand, he set about his task of creating the Horcrux. Many of the Death Eaters who saw him return afterwards would have said they were terrified of the grin on his face, others however, would have believed it was simply another victory for their master, the immortal man that defied death using the dark arts to his advantage.

~0~o~0~

A man was running through a woodland terrain in the clasp of night, the sky darkening quickly with every passing minute, cool crisp blue turning murky and distasteful. He carried a bundle in his arms, trying his hardest to quieten the infant inside as he tried to escape the inhumane thing that was hunting him. A spiralling jet of dark matter was closing in on them, a harsh cackle following as a white skinned hand jutted out from the matter.

"Petrificus Totalus." The running man's arms and legs snapped almost instantly to his sides, sending the bundled infant flying into the awaiting arms of the figure in the dark mist, who had now landed in front of the cursed man. "How quaint, a poor little muggle who doesn't have anyone to save him..." The black robes and white skin – along with the snake slit nose and sunken eyes – of Lord Voldemort appeared in full glorious view. One hand clutched the Elder Wand, the other holding the crying infant close to his torso.

"What? Would you like to say something? By all means, speak!" As he spoke, the Dark Lord swished his wand, allowing the man movement of his head.

"Let my son go, now!" The black-haired man lying on the ground snarled, putting all of his anger into his eyes and the loudness of his growling. Voldemort simply laughed at the man that was, in all purposes, defenceless in the dirt in front of him.

"Your child? What makes you think this child is yours?" The Dark Lord, took a closer look of the face of the now quiet infant. Unruly black hair spilled out to the sides and a pair of innocent amber orbs blinked up at him. In some ways, the infant reminded him dearly of the thorn in his side known as Harry Potter, but at the same time he didn't. Unlike Potter, this child would be forever a possession for Voldemort's continuous existence, a vessel that would benefit him greatly in the future.

"Because my wife gave birth to him, you twat!" Lord Voldemort raised an eyebrow at this man's uncouth language but waited patiently for him to continue as clearly, this man had a lot to say for himself. "Let my baby go!"

"I do not see why I should listen to the demands of a muggle," the Dark Lord remained emotionless, the empty pits that were his eyes never betrayed his true anger towards the way that the man, a muggle no less, was addressing him. Even muggles would one day cower in the name of Lord Voldemort, just as the wizarding society had done for a very long time. "Of course, that is not something that you could understand."

"I do understand that you're holding my kid with a light up stick in your hands that has done something funny to me!" The man tried to struggle, ignoring the term that had been muttered so disgustedly in his face, however he found himself unable to move from the neck down. "Give him back."

"Maybe… once you have made a sacrifice to my noble cause." Voldemort twirled his wand in an intricate pattern, one of which was mirrored onto the ground underneath the restrained man. It began to glow, making the man within its borders shut his eyes from the pain of the sudden brightness that threatened to blind him.

"Wh-wh-what are you saying?!" The man cried out, managing to squint at the white skinned weirdo who was clutching tightly onto his now crying child. Why today of all days did his wife choose to take a day off? Lord Voldemort never answered the man's question. He raised his wand and, with a cry, shouted out one of the worst spells known to man.

"AVARDA KEDAVRA!" A beam of green light burst from his wand and hit the man where he lay. The last thing the man heard as darkness enveloped him was the cries of his baby son.

~0~o~0~

To a flash of green light was how Harry James Potter awoke in the early hours of that April morning, sweat pouring down his face with a lingering pain hesitating where his scar resided, something that hadn't happened in nineteen years. He sat up in his bed, rubbing his forehead harshly to numb the pain slightly and put on his glasses to check the time.

6:15 AM.

He had to get up soon anyway, so Harry got out of bed, mind reliving what he had just seen. It couldn't have happened, in all honesty, as Voldemort was dead, killed by Harry's own hand when he was just a teenager at around seventeen. He was now thirty-nine years old and an Auror working for the Ministry of Magic, married to Ginny with three kids – two of which were in Hogwarts at the time – and life was finally granting him with some good luck. That was until tonight.

Since the death of the Dark Lord, his scar had just become another part of his face, not causing him any pain whatsoever. That was something that Harry was grateful for, if not ecstatic over. He didn't feel pain thanks to Voldemort's presence since there was no presence but now, he wasn't so sure. A man had been killed in some sort of ritual and Voldemort had kidnapped a child, or at least had taken a child and something had happened to it, whether the child was dead or not Harry did not know but he was worried if that had happened but when?

The area in the dream was not familiar to the wizard, even though he had travelled most the continental side of the world. The Regions, however, were off limits to wizards and witches as a part of their governmental system. It definitely wasn't anywhere in Europe, the feel of the forest and the dark features of the man that died at Voldemort's hands seemed Asian to him. That didn't matter much to the Auror, what happened did.

When did the scene happen?

Who were the man and his child that Voldemort attacked?

Was the child even alive today?

Where was the said child if he was alive?

How in the name of Merlin's Beard had Voldemort found them to attack?

The five question starters flew around in his head, however he couldn't answer them from what he had been given from that brisk preview into a horrific event. What could it have meant and why now? Harry shook those thoughts from his head, he didn't have time to worry about some random nightmare from Voldemort's past. It had been almost twenty-one years, was the vision some sort of reminder that the Dark Lord had once existed on this mortal plain? Maybe so. He'd have to ask Hermione about it when he got to work.

Ginny's space in their double bed was empty but the door to the bathroom opened soon after and she was surprised that, for once, she didn't have to wake her husband up by using a spell. Harry loved his lie ins, even during the working week which consisted of all seven days considering the fact he was an Auror. Her brother Ron was one as well, his wife Hermione was a high-ranking minister, the Deputy Ministress in fact after years of hard work – she still had time for her school friends whenever she had the chance. The red head crept around the bed to hug her husband from behind as he stared out the window, her head rested upon his shoulders.

"What's the matter?" She asked softly. "You seem tense."

"Just a nightmare, Gin," Harry tried to reassure her, although she wasn't buying his words one bit. "I'm just overthinking it, that's all."

"Really? Why don't I believe you?" Ginny sighed and held her husband tighter. "Ron told me about your nightmares… you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Of course," Harry playfully scoffed at the idea. "Then you could make it into an illusion for those sweets you and George sell at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes." Ever since Fred's death at the hands of the dark forces, George had been left to run their business on his own and, as soon as she had finished Hogwarts, Ginny had offered to take up the role to help her brother out, now she was the second manager of the Diagon Alley branch whilst also helping out with running the other branches. The hours were suitable with Lily still being too young to go to Hogwarts, meaning that the youngest Potter family member was still in primary education for a year or so.

"Nah, they're going in our trademarked Dream Bombs, giving your enemies the worst nightmares, pick and mix for all people," she smiled with the business in mind, her joke managed to get a snigger out of her husband that made her beam proudly. "Come on, I'll whip up some pancakes and get Lily up. You have a job to get to."

~0~o~0~

Harry, sat behind his desk, was trying to block out the constant chattering coming from a witch's desk nearby. Whilst Auror's normally were on missions outside of the confines of the indoors, there was still paperwork to be done and, sadly enough, with a lack of magic based incidents now was the time. Luckily, his best friend Ronald Weasley was there to brighten up his day.

"Seriously mate," Ron rolled his eyes whilst taking a break from his paperwork. "It was bloody worth it to see the look on her face. I've never seen her so livid in my life!"

"Perhaps you shouldn't have cursed Hermione's mobile to turn her into a cat woman like back in our second year…" Harry was trying his hardest to stifle his oncoming laughter. "Then you wouldn't have to take a few years off of your life expectancy."

"What's a few years to a wizard?" Ron scoffed, twirling his pen between his fingers but failing miserably in keeping it moving. "We live well into our hundreds. I swear Dumbledore was like two hundred or something before, you know what happened."

Harry did know, he'd witnessed the headmaster's own death at the hands of his Potions Master, all a part of the old man's scheme. "Yeah, yeah…" He winced as a mild pain flashed through his scar for a moment, and then it died down with a confused Ron staring at him.

"You okay?" The ginger haired man asked, slightly worried.

"Yeah, just the scar playing up…" Harry realised what he had blurted out when he noticed Ron's wide eyed expression. He cursed internally.

"The scar?!" The Weasley man leant over to his friend's desk as they shared the same booth. "But V-v-v… Voldemort's dead, ain't he? Why would your…?"

"A nightmare," Harry knew what was about to happen and just went with it. "About Voldemort, and some guy he killed, there was a baby involved as well."

"So, nothing to do with your parents?" Ron blinked at the deadpanned face that greeted his question, realising he had just been extremely stupid. "Okay, fine, but what would You-Know-Who want with a kid other than to kill them?"

"Dunno, revenge… possibly," the black haired Auror relieved his nightmare, trying to envision the child in the Dark Lord's arm. "The kid did look a lot like me, minus the amber eyes and the scar on the head."

"He killed a kid that looked like you just because he couldn't kill you?" Ron's left eyebrow rose up in disbelief. "Sounds You-Know-Who-ish."

"I don't know what happened to the baby," Harry replied, going deep in thought. "The father was killed with the killing curse under some kind of ritual…"

"Look mate," Ron interrupted, slightly creeped out at what his friend had seen at during the night. "I have no idea why all this stuff is starting up again but, I think it means something bad. We have to see Hermione, now."

Ronald Weasley had practically dragged his best friend down the hallway towards a certain office that he had visited many times himself beforehand. After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry had taken on a more democratic approach from its past, putting the power into a Minister and a Deputy Minister who both had to agree on a matter before it went to the rest of the Ministry of Magic's own 'House of Commons' who voted on the matter before it could be made official and valid. That Deputy Ministress just happened to be Hermione Weasley, Ron's wife.

When Ron had reached the door to his wife's office, he simply barged in, dragging a slightly reluctant Harry behind him. In their childhood at Hogwarts, if something happened with Harry's scar then the first person he turned to was Hermione – Ron came a close second – before he even thought about telling Dumbledore about what he had felt/seen. Now, he was being dragged into a pristinely kept office with a rather ticked off Hermione sat behind the huge desk in the middle of the circular room.

"Hello Ron, what is it this time…" She froze as her eyes lay on her friend and she smiled tiredly. "Oh, Harry. What seems to be the matter?"

"What happened to the professionalism?" Ron chuckled to himself, silenced by his wife's stern glare. "Look, 'Mione, his scar started hurting again."

"Can't I tell her cause it's my scar?" Harry groaned as Hermione gasped in front of him.

"Your scar? But it can't be, Voldemort is dead!" The Deputy Ministress of Magic ignored her husband's flinching until it became too much for her to bear. "Oh, for Merlin's sake Ronald Weasley, Voldemort's been dead for twenty years now, his name isn't cursed and his Death Eaters are all either behind bars or dead. You need to get over the petty fear of saying a name!"

"Right, forgot you two were muggle raised." Ron huffed, crossing his arms like a stropping toddler.

"Ignore my childish husband Harry," Hermione raised her voice as she spoke, which in turn caused Ron to huff even louder than before. "As I was saying earlier, this could be serious. Did you see anything and if you did, you need to tell me everything."

Harry relived his experience, not leaving every detail out. Hermione and Ron made a great audience, gasping and shivering at the right moments whilst having the right facial expressions as well. He finished his tale, adding the flash of green and the unfamiliarity of the area which made Hermione frown deeply in thought.

"So, what do you think?" Harry inquired, making her look up at him solemnly.

"I believe we have a major problem on our hands," she rested her lower face on her interlocked hands but the darkness that seemed to cover her eyes told the two men everything they needed to know. "It seems Voldemort had found a way to gain access to the Regions."

~0~o~0~

A boy was facing up against a fully-grown man with a stick in his hand. The man turned to reveal a face on the back of his head through his turban.

 **Pain… why is my forehead so painful?**

The face talked, hissed at the boy, the man called him up to a mirror at the edge of the flame circle that surrounded them.

 **Don't listen to him!**

The boy moved, stared into the mirror, talked to the man, found a stone in his pocket. It seemed the two in one person didn't know about it.

 **Keep it hidden, for the sake of Arceus keep it hidden.**

The boy stepped backwards, saying something but it seemed that he was lying. The man unwrapped his turban at the face's instructions. It made the man turn so that it could face the boy, who clutched at the scar on his forehead as if it hurt.

 **Are… are our pains connected?**

The face talked for a bit before instructing the man it was attached on to do something. The man lunged at the boy, hands clasped around his throat, trying to kill him.

 **Why… why can't… I breathe?!**

The boy was reaching for the stone, prying the fingers from around his neck off but failing at it.

 **Why is my vision blurring… why… that boy… help…**

A blinding green light blurred and blinded his vision with a yell of "Arvada Kedavra".

 **WAKE UP!**

In the region of Alola, one boy screamed as he bolted upright in his bed, his own nightmare haunting him. The pain gathered at his forehead had moved to his cheeks, making him rub them tenderly to try and ease the pain. They had never hurt him before, but then again, birthmarks aren't supposed to hurt anyone, are they? Checking over at the basket on the ground; Pikachu, Litten and Rockruff didn't seem to have stirred from their slumber at his yells, Rowlett slept through everything and Rotom, well, Rotom was offline at that moment so it wasn't neither use nor ornament.

Quietly, he got out of bed, crept over to the ladders that lead down to the main space of the house and slid down them, heading towards the kitchen in search of some kind of drink that would make him sleepy. It must have been extremely late; the moon was still quite high in the sky from what he could see through the skylight window. Opening the fridge, he had to squint his eyes at the light which illuminated the surroundings. Once he had gotten used to the light, the boy rummaged around through a full fridge to see what kind of drink was there. He didn't want to eat, he had probably just seen some kid die at the hands of an adult whilst his cheeks were burning up for some reason.

The boy sighed as he searched through the fridge until a sudden sound made him jump and slam it shut, revealing a confused looking professor standing behind it.

"Ash, what are you doing up? Having a midnight snack I see," Professor Kukui wiped the trail of drool from the side of his mouth, something he had acquired by falling asleep on his study books. "Is that why I have to shop twice as often as I used to?"

"No, I was finding something to drink so I could get back to sleep!" After realising he snapped at the man who was housing him whilst he stayed in Alola, Ash looked at the ground sheepishly. "I had a nightmare and just thought…"

"A drink would help you?" Kukui finished his sentence and smiled gently. "I know, your scream woke me up. I was coming to check on you when I found you in the fridge." He walked over to the cupboards and pulled out a container filled with hot chocolate granules. "A Tapu Cocoa?"

"Sure," the ten-year-old boy took a seat on the sofa whilst the Professor made himself a tea as well. Once the man was done, he handed over the drink and sat down next to his charge. "Thanks, professor."

"Don't mention it," Kukui took a sip of his tea and turned to the boy next to him. "So, what was this nightmare about?"

"Well there was this kid, and a man…" Ash frowned as the events became hazy all of a sudden, not matter what however he always remembered how it ended. "Something happened and then the man was strangling the boy… it went dark and some voice said something weird… and I woke up with my cheeks burning in pain."

"Your… cheeks?" Kukui's eyes rested on the lightning bolt shaped marks that dotted Ash's face, the skin around them seemed a bit inflamed, even under the moonlight. "I don't think birthmarks can cause pain. Are you getting a fever?"

"My forehead would be hot, not my cheeks, and I wouldn't be in pain…" The boy remembered that horrible fever he obtained whilst in Kalos, comparing how he felt now to that moment then. "Birthmarks… I never believed mum when she told me that, neither her side or dad's side had them and even so, why would they still be so prominent on my face? Wouldn't they have, you know, shrunk?"

Whilst he wasn't all that knowledgeable on the human body compared to Pokémon moves, Kukui knew that Ash was right, with the new skin that formed, the pigments that made up a birthmark slowly vanished with the dead skin cells, normally. Some birthmarks lasted a life time or could be removed but more often than not, they were red not blackened with white hints, like a dried scar.

"I guess so," Kukui noticed how tired his charge actually was and smiled as he yawned. "I see you've finished your drink. You'd better get to bed, it's a school day tomorrow and I don't want you falling asleep in class, okay?"

"Okay." Ash yawned as he stood up, deposited his cup in the sink and went to climb up the ladders to his attic room when Kukui stopped him.

"If anything happens, don't hesitate to call for me, I'll come running, okay?"

A smile formed on the boy's face. "I won't, thanks professor."

"Anytime," Kukui grinned back. "Anytime."

Once back up the ladder, Ash crawled into his bed, thinking back to the ending of that dream. The voice felt familiar somehow and wasn't there some kind of crying in it? And what did that green light mean? Did it tie with what happened to that boy in his dream? He sighed and closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the lingering pain on his cheeks, maybe it had all been the repercussions of something he had ate.


End file.
